


Behind the Bushes

by shelby_love



Series: Benedict Bridgerton [1]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Bridgerton Family Feels, Bridgertons Being Bridgertons, Cute Benedict Bridgerton, Dad Benedict Bridgerton, F/M, Husband Benedict Bridgerton, Jealous Benedict Cumberbatch, Regency, Regency Romance, benedict bridgerton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelby_love/pseuds/shelby_love
Summary: After an eventful nightly escapade in which you and Benedict were the main characters, you find yourself letting him in on your deepest passion. Confused with feelings you never thought you would experience, all it takes for them to set loose is a simple drawing. But the fear of them being one-side was ever present too.
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton & Reader, Benedict Bridgerton & You, Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Benedict Bridgerton x You, Benedict Bridgerton/Reader, Benedict Bridgerton/You, Colin Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Series: Benedict Bridgerton [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174334
Kudos: 26





	Behind the Bushes

"Such a pity," sight your younger sister, Margaret, delicately playing with the piece of plum cake on the silver plate in front of her. "Townes would have been such a good catch."

Your sister has been going on about the ball for days, never seeming to find a way to shut up. Her sickly-looking, small figure was what attracted men to her, ergo her endless and pointless talks about them. This particular Lord has enjoyed his time with her a little too much, urging your whole family to believe that he would proceed with courting her.

Apparently not.

"He was so smitten by me, mama!"

"Of course, he was, dear," your mother assured her.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" She blurted after a while, Townes being forgotten immediately. She dropped her fork and leaned over to your mother. How Margaret managed to do so in a tight corset, you didn't know. "The Earl of Huntingdon is supposed to be engaged to Lady Tridewall."

It perked your mother's interest, she placed her teacup back on the flowery plate, clutching Margaret's hand dramatically. You rolled your eyes.

"That cannot be true," she muttered, "I spoke with Delphi just yesterday."

Best in your ability, you tried to ignore them. The Society being the object of your many headaches and the center of their world.

You didn't hate the Society per se, only _slightly_ disliked when your mother and sister discussed it. There was something in the color of their voice, perhaps being the consequence of drinking so much tea. 

Slowly, you allowed yourself to sink into the conversation your two and only brothers held, knowing well enough that whatever they tried to say was going to be worth your while. "Good God. I might as well go back to war."

And you were correct.

Your eldest brother, the Viscount and the man whose house you occupied for the morning, laughed, "Half of London has been talking about you for the last month."

"It's true," you piped in cheerfully, looking between the two. "Even Whistledown can't keep silent about your return, Eliot."

The young man groaned, ignoring the snappy tone of warning from your mother. "Benedict warned me this would happen."

"And you should have listened to him brother," James retorted, smirking against his glass.

At that moment, the two circled back to the Bridgertons. As their close friends, they both had a lot to discuss in their absence. There were no dark reveals, or talking behind their back, more so simply discussing what their friends were up to.

You didn't know what was worse.

Hearing your mother and sister discuss society haughtily, or your brothers talk about the man you had been spending two secretive weeks together.

Suddenly not even what they had to say was fun.

And so, the rest of the meal passed in a blur. Not another bite of food could be forced down your throat, no matter how much you tried. You could hardly remain still in your seat, the need to run to your room and drown in self sorrow overwhelming you. It was when everyone put down their forks that you had sprung to your feet and disappeared into your room.

Your mothers plead couldn't be ignored on an usual, but having a brother returned safely from his travels was all she needed at the moment. God knew she was hovering over Eliot with a list of eligible ladies he could marry.

Most of whose last names started with a B.

There was no doubt in your mind that he scrunched his nose, waved her away because he saw the ladies the same way he saw you.

Like a sister.

Why couldn't you be like him? Why couldn't you see Benedict Bridgerton as that too?

That's the question you didn't hold answers too.

***

**TWO WEEKS PRIOR**

The night was black, not a star in the sky, you realized as you sneaked through your garden.

What you were doing was terrifying, but every bit thrilling. Scrambling out from behind the tall bushes, you emerged out into the street from a corner no one, save for the children of the house, knew about.

Margaret was more interested in her dresses and embroidering lessons than in sneaking out in the middle of the night, and risking unleashing an unforgivable scandal upon your family.

As for your brothers...

They were men.

Such measures of leaving the town house did not apply to them.

And while Eliot might've been interested in bringing you with him somewhere, God only knew how James would react.

Best stick to yourself then.

You set out towards Green Park, also known as a secret hiding for all women who opposed the reign of men. It was you and your closest friend only, but you believed it was revolutionary, nevertheless.

You were tense the entire time, only stopping to breathe when you reached the edge of the park. Once again, hidden behind bushes was your only way to keep your dignity preserved.

"My, my."

Quickly, you turned around to face the voice, your mouth dropping to the grassy ground you were standing on.

That deep voice was unmistakable. You didn't need light to recognize a face. All you needed was the voice to know that before you stood...

Benedict Bridgerton.

He couldn't be mistaken for a rogue man, no he could not. Even in the dark, everything about him screamed of rich and significance for the society.

"Who do we have here?" He drawled, making you quite sure that he knew who you were too. "I did not peg you for a venturer, Lady Y/N Y/LN."

It took everything in you not to flinch away in fear and turn your face into a blank sheet free of emotions. "Mr. Bridgerton. Fancy seeing you here."

You grew up with this man. What was he on about? Using formalities like that.

He gestured around the dark park, "I must say, I am quite surprised."

"You mustn't tell, Benedict." You said quickly, worst scenarios emerging into your mind.

"Easy there. No need to fret."

There was a glimmer of excitement in his brown eyes, you noticed, even under the dark sky with only the moonlight above you as the only light. You couldn't help the smile that came over you.

Better to be caught by Benedict than any other man, right?

"I am being serious Benedict," you said laughing, though you whirled around, fully expecting to hear the thunderous stomps of your best friend. "You must go."

"But I am enjoying myself!"

You rolled your eyes, glancing back at him. "This is a private matter."

"Private business in Green Park?" He mused, "That's an awfully public place to be holding a meeting, don't you think?"

Biting your lip, you turned around and glared at the dark park. "It's private enough."

"Trusting the timetable, I see."

"Indeed." You said through gritted teeth.

You had hoped for him to have left by now, though by the way he crouched down next to you, it seemed like he was going to do all but leave. "Who are we waiting for?" He whispered, his eyes following yours. "I hope it's not Betula we are risking our honor for."

" _We_ are not waiting for anyone," you told him sternly, "And her name is _Bess_."

"Ah, yes," he mused, not looking apologetic in the slightness. "Bess. How could I forget? Lord Timmons bulldog of a daughter."

"Benedict!"

His laugh broke through the night, showing just how much he enjoyed this even when he stuffed his mouth into his sleeve.

You couldn't help yourself.

You grinned.

_Blast him!_

His big body kept scraping around the bushes, the sound of them wavering under the impact was louder than your laughter. "Sush!"

"Oi!"

The sound of the voice had your blood running cold. "Blast!"

"Who's there?!"

"Oh no… I can't be caught by chauvinistic men. I will not allow it!" You muttered, looking through the dark and then at Benedict. It didn't take long to find his eyes in the darkness. "But what about Bess?"

He looked as alarmed as you did.

And that's never good.

"Here, come." Before you could utter another word, his rough hand had grabbed yours, and you found yourself sprinting through the park, with a bit of luck toward a place a tad bit more reliable.

That ended up being even bigger bushes.

_Lovely._

"This is not," you huffed, your lungs burning. "How I projected my night to go."

"Whatever are we going to do about Bertha? She undoubtedly heard them and opted to leave just to be safe."

"Bess!" You barked, pushing yourself into a standing position, and coming face to face with…

Him.

You could feel his rigid breathing fan your face. Having never been so close to a man before, you felt red all over. "For the last time… Her name… Is Bess…"

Your words felt quieter and quieter the more you spoke, until eventually they faded into a mere whisper not even you could hear.

"Bess," he whispered with the same daze. "I understand."

You swallowed, "Good."

Both of you took a preserving step back, him knowing what it meant more than you did. The sound of your heart thumping in your chest was loud, louder than your labored breathing.

"I'll escort you home."

Your brows bunched together, "Are you hearing yourself Benedict?"

"I will not have you walking home by yourself at this time of the night," he declared. "Humor me for once."

The glare went unnoticed and eventually you nodded your head, sighing and allowing him to escort you home. The two of you set off into the night yet again in the form of a small march, the same amount of fear president in your chest, though weirdly enough, followed by a sense of warmth from just being near the Bridgerton.

It was scary to feel that way. Heart racing and red. A way you should be feeling only for your husband. Though those feelings were something a fighter like yourself deeply despised, you couldn't help the thoughts that were the mere fruit of the environment you were born into.

After you had passed several houses, he spoke up. "I ought to lend you some trousers."

"Come again?"

"For your meetings of course," Benedict replied, strangely calm. "What happened tonight cannot repeat itself. Your revolt against all things men should be planned out accordingly."

" _Accordingly_ ," you repeated, your lips thinning into a straight line as you tested the word on your tongue. "Whatever is that supposed to mean?"

He scratched the back of his neck, "Well, for one. You shouldn't draw too much attention to yourself."

"I am not. That is why we meet at night."

"Not like that."

"Elaborate Benedict."

"What I mean to say is that," he began, mulling over the words in his head so he didn't offend you. He never did that. He was always witty and with no filter in his mouth, no matter who spoke to him. Though he found himself biting his tongue more often than not in a span of a mere half an hour. "Your dress might… Make your quick escape harder."

"And wearing… _trousers_ …shall make up for that?"

"Trousers can only be worn by men, can't they not?"

Your hands curled into fists, "Of course not! Everyone should be able to wear trousers!"

He watched you carefully as you vented about all things men and women, coming to conclusions and then proceeding to find another flaw in the system.

Before he knew.

You were at home.

"How will you get back inside?"

Benedict saw your smirk, "I shall climb in through the window, of course."

You cut him off before he could say anything (he thought of a fine compliment), "Thank you, Benedict. I don't know what I would have done without you."

It wasn't easy for you to admit defeat to a man, he realized. The fact made him smile. "It was my pleasure."

It really was.

***

Ever since then, at every ball and every dinner, Benedict found himself immersed in concocting a plan for women's rights with you.

What usually would be courting, was overlooked with the two of you for a reason you did not know, but it suited you perfectly.

Falling to your bed, you laid there for a second, fighting every fiber in your body not to delve your hand underneath your pillow.

You lost the battle and, in the end, found yourself at odds with a drawing.

He started doing that after a debate on fine arts you once had over your family portrait. While he was sure the light did not do justice to your skin complexion, you had attempted to assure him that he should not question an artist's choice.

Ever since that day, he's been persistent in making sure you knew just how good he was at being an artist too.

You fumbled with the ends of the worn-out paper, finding it difficult to turn it around.

The drawings were always so beautiful. So simple yet so complicated. The lines he created with his pencil seemed to go on in every direction, almost as if they couldn't decide where it is that they wanted to go.

But then you did—turn it around—and you were shocked to see what you did.

You looked back at the reflection of yourself, penciled out into detail so you saw every dip and curve of your face and body. He was so precise it shocked you. How could someone who never saw your body out of your dress draw something as realistic as that? The mass that is your hair had been swept up, covered by a tall hat, and not a bonnet. Your smile was stretched out into a grin, as you wore a tailcoat and…

 _Trousers_.

You laughed at the picture, even more so when noticing how detailed he was by drawing a pair of suspenders, whose only job was to keep your manly wear in place. The sight was pleasant, touching even, as he was the only man in your life who knew of your passion for equality. 

On instinct, you searched for his signature, only to find that it was not there at all.

You furrowed your brows, thinking about the unusual occurrence.

Perhaps he didn't finish it.

"Didn't finish…"

Then it hit you.

You received something you shouldn't have!

You were never supposed to see this piece of his soul.

But you did.

What do you do now?

***

You stood in your own home, watching as partygoers mingled about. Whether they were insulting your mother's decorations, or complimenting them, you wouldn't know.

Margaret was off dancing with an Earl from Scotland, her mass of prettily styled hair bouncing softly as she kept up with the Earl's quick feet. Next to her, somewhere in the circle was your Viscount of a brother, having finally set his eyes on a Marquess' daughter from somewhere up North.

Only you and Eliot seemed to be pair less.

Oh, actually…

Nevermind.

Even _he_ was dancing. Freshly returned from Egypt and with a tan, the sibling was only being nice by dancing with Penelope Featherington of all people. Both gained from the fact; your brother shook off ambitious mamas off his shoulders, and the poor girl didn't stand by the side like a lone, sad statue. It was her third season, and she as yet to find herself a match. 

So was yours, but your mindset allowed you to be happy with being un-married.

You watched her red hair bounce atop her head with significantly less grace than Margaret's, though to you, it only seemed to add to her character.

Penelope wasn't meant for these types of gatherings.

She looked miserable even when she thought she didn’t.

And you felt bad for her.

You also seemed to be looking at all the wrong places, with hopes of noticing Benedict's chesnut curls. Your heart worked overtime whenever you thought about him. Most likely because you were in love with your friend.

Oh, yes.

In _love_.

The dreaded L word.

Since the first day you met him, actually.

In all honesty, you finally seemed to grasp however Penelope Featherington felt for Colin Bridgerton.

And it was as depressing as it was fulfilling. Neither one of the two Misters seemed to be in a hurry to marry.

You didn't wish marriage upon him. Obviously!

But you didn't wish to be a woman on the side either. You had pride, being an Earl's daughter and all.

Eventually, you did find him sulking about at the other end of the ballroom, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but where he was.

Perhaps he wasn't bothered by your home and the décor it was filled with, as he found himself more in it then out of it.

Handing out pictures like a paperboy.

In your room of all places.

His brown eyes went from a bored Eloise to you, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off you. Once the moment in which you two seemed to be the only ones that mattered had arose, and the bubble had formed, you tipped your head toward an exit and slipped out so that no one noticed. It was fairly easy to do so when everyone seemed to be having a such amazing time in the Earl's abode.

Following you out, Benedict thought about it for a second.

It was far to dangerous for him to be alone with you, he realized.

But did he care?

Did he feel bad for wanting to take you in his mouth and ravish you, so you were utterly breathless beneath him? The pictures that flooded his mind were, what Lady Whistledown would describe as tier 1 type of scandalous. He found himself pulling at his collar, the breathing he kept normal and light suddenly having turned upside down.

He _needed_ to see you.

And it didn't help him when he found you in your room, alone and with a paper in hand.

You had been relieved to see him. A part of you was sure he wouldn't show, and you would join Penelope in the 'Unrequited Love Club for Spinsters only'.

Yet, there you both were.

Scared to be caught in a compromising position by a mama after being involved in _illegal_ affairs for two weeks.

Women wearing trousers indeed were illegal affairs.

"Benedict." ; "Y/N."

You suddenly smiled, "I hadn't thought you would show."

He swallowed, his mind daring him to look beneath your eyes and plump lips. "Whatever makes you think that?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, not knowing what a simple movement like that was doing to him. "I thought I should give this back to you."

Benedict eyed your extended hand, the folded piece of paper completely unknown to him. It looked like one of the drawing he had given you, which prompted him to wonder why you were returning it to him. "Why—"

"Open it."

He eyed you carefully, looking for a crack in your façade.

Benedict found nothing.

The paper seemed fragile in his hands, as his long fingers traced the edges before unwrapping it like a present.

The Bridgerton felt his mouth part, his chocolate eyes skimming over every dip and curve with the same heat as your own. "You shouldn't have—"

"Seen this," you finished for him, fidgeting with your fingers. "I know. It wasn't signed, and I felt as if I ought to return it then."

"I—"

He genuinely didn't know what to say.

You have successfully made him speechless by just…

Returning an unsigned drawing. "Why?"

"Why what?"

Benedict threw the paper on your bed, "Why give it back?"

You ran your hands across your silky dress, "I do not know. Perhaps I believed it was improper to keep something that understandably wasn't supposed to be given to me."

"But it's… _You_."

Could he be any more stupid?

Could he not see the feelings you have for him? The effect _he_ held over you.

He made you feel things you never felt in your life.

Was that normal?

You wanted to ask but decided against it. Fear of embarrassment in the front lines of your unease.

Then suddenly, pictures of him being married to another prickled at your mind, almost as if your brain was making fun of you. It nearly left you paralyzed with fear.

But then again…

You _never_ wanted to marry. Never wanted to depend on a man and his upbringings. Still, the future did not seem bright for the cause, but that didn't mean it had a right to darken the possibility of you living a happy life.

You loved _that_ man.

Marriage with him… You could see it.

"I love you," you whispered, urging your eyes to take in his dark ones. "I—I don't know when I started to love you… But I do."

"And you wonder if what you're feeling is normal?" Benedict voiced your thoughts.

You nodded, tears brimming.

The man took a step into your personal space, so close that to whoever comes in, this would be fatal. "I drew that a fortnight ago. Do you remember?"

Nodding seemed to be your only form of communication, but you did it anyway.

"I realized my love for you _then_."

Your lips parted in shock, and your lungs seemed to have stopped running. The air wedged in your lungs, and cotton seemed to reside in your throat, ripping you of the ability to speak.

"I love you." He said, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips, pulling away just so he could see your reaction. "And I want to marry you."

You touched your lips with the tips of your fingers, the feeling so sudden that it would've been horrific two weeks ago.

It felt natural at that moment. "You do?"

He couldn't see anyone by his side, but you.

His wife could only be you.

The mother of his children could only be you.

No scratch that.

 _Yours_ children.

For there was to be equality in your marriage.

***

**5 YEARS LATER**

"Whatever happens," you said. "I am sure you will do exceedingly well."

"And if Whistledown decides to ruin me with words?"

You gave him a determined nod, caressing his cheek with the same passion. "Then you shall get over it."

"Wow, you are _so_ encouraging."

After 5 years of marriage, and a small angel in the form of a 4-year-old daughter, Benedict and you have gotten your happily ever after. The smiles, the haste, the secret revolt against society… It all made sense now.

Because that's who you were.

Your palms brushed out his tailcoat, "You are an amazing artist. Anyone with common sense can see that."

"Besides," you continued. "If she dares to say a word against you… I shall recruit our solicitors with my newly obtained power and destroy her."

"Isn't that against your belief?"

"No, it is not. Even women can be evil Benedict." You said, "I must do what I must do to ensure my husband is happy."

"But I'm already happy," said Benedict with a laugh, his arm wrapping around your body. "You are all I need in this world."

Behind several thick bushes somewhere on the property of the Bridgerton House, you had snogged your husband as if you just married and weren't five-years-into-marriage with a four-year-old that followed.

"Mama! Dada!"

You pushed Benedict off to protect your daughter's innocence, and he reeled back, almost crashing into the bushes with significant force. "Are you mad, woman?!"

Laughing, you had crouched down despite the protests of your dress, grabbed the energetic child in your arms and twirled her around. Your daughter's dark ringlets bobbed as she threw her head back, enjoying herself in all her fun.

"Where is Eloise?" You asked your daughter, watching as she slumped against your shoulder, suddenly tired.

"Possibly somewhere sleeping," added Benedict. "She tends to do that quite a lot."

"Penelope?"

"She too is most likely to be sleeping."

You huffed, "Well, then I suppose it's good our daughter has a tendency to hide in the bushes too."

Benedict threw his head back and laughed, that day in Green Park dawning on him. He eased back into your small circle by wrapping an arm around your waist, twirling a curl on your daughter's head with the finger of his free hand.

"She's beautiful."

You couldn't help but agree. "And she's all ours."

"We ought to give her some company," he mused, kissing the corner of your lips. "I believe she is rather neglected."

You rolled your eyes, the pictures of all your nieces and nephews (from both sides of the family) rushing through. "Ah, yes. So little cousins to play with, the poor girl doesn't know what do with herself."

Little did he know.

Your little family was about to get even bigger.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, you lovely person! If you liked what you read you can check out my Tumblr writing account under @shelby-love and dive in to see my other work! Much love x


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